Amicicide
by Dr. Miles
Summary: Phoenix is shot by an unknown gunman, and it is up to his friends to see him through a roller coaster of a recovery. See inside for a much more detailed summary!
1. Prologue and Summary

NOTES:

- This fic is not yaoi. It is also AU and does not take GS4 into account.  
- The script of it is already written (and still in the works). Two friends and I acted it out together:  
Me: Edgeworth, Ema, Andres, Amy  
Soramimi Cake: Phoenix, Maggey, Maya, Mia  
MalindaMage: Gumshoe

- It is a joint fanfiction written by myself and Soramimi Cake of Court-Records Forums.  
- It was originally played out without an actual place in the timeline set in mind. In some strange AU, the events of T&T have occurred but Edgeworth still has a bit of learning to do. Don't let it distract you; I suppose enjoy the story and ignore the timeline. 

PLEASE REVIEW, EVEN WITH SIMPLE COMMENTS. I'm sort of a new writer myself and I want to make sure I'm doing this right.

PROLOGUE/SUMMARY WRITTEN BY SORAMIMI CAKE.

The year following the case of State vs. Sister Iris had been a time of prosperity and healing for most of the parties involved. Friends had temporarily gone their separate ways, as they tended to do, to heal their metaphorical wounds, both the long-term and the recent. That isn't to say that they fell out of touch - true friends never manage to avoid each other for long - but a comfortable distance had fallen about the lot, leaving room for them to pick up the pieces with the independence that they so desired. Things had gone over smoothly throughout the duration of their downtime; nature took its course, and most of them had begun to get back in touch with one another eventually, not one of them bearing complaints born of the recently passed months they had spent away from each other's company. For a while it seemed that everything was going to be alright; this time, the peace seemed so real, so promising.

Unfortunately, this was not the case.

**August 23, 12:54 PM  
Gourd Lake Park**

It only took one simple action to shatter the peace that the close-knit group had made for itself. When Phoenix Wright is shot by an unknown gunman and a bizarre twist of fate lands friend and ex-client Maggey Byrde in the hot-seat as the accused yet again, Miles Edgeworth must decide whether to prosecute to the fullest or exercise the right to Nolle Prosequi. Naturally, his belief in evidence has him racing to decide on the former, but something about the look in the eyes of his childhood friend leaves much room for doubt.

Detective Dick Gumshoe, torn by his loyalty to Prosecutor Edgeworth and his affection for the defendant, must figure out what he can do to help with the situation without complicating the matter. Needless to say, this proves to be easier said than done...

Maya Fey must draw back from her duties as Master of Kurain to sit at the bedside her ailing friend and long-time defender, and in the process she becomes acquainted with 'future' scientific investigator Ema Skye. A bond of trust and love forms between the two, a companionship unlike no other bringing them together so that they may have the strength to support everyone involved.

But it doesn't end there.

Phoenix Wright's rollercoaster of recovery puts a severe strain on the already thoroughly distressed group. Patience is tested, and the strength of their friendships with one another is put through the wringer in a way none of them could have ever imagined before.

As the saying goes, "what does not kill me makes me stronger," but the circle of friends has been thrown into a world where survival is no longer guaranteed. Whether or not this terrible little incident becomes amicicide hinges on the life of one single man.

As awful reality becomes clearer, everybody slowly begins to realize that the support of friends may not be enough.


	2. Chapter 1

Miles Edgeworth's day at the Prosecutor's Office had been entirely uneventful-that is to say, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred for the most of it. However, that was ideal for him-he enjoyed things that way. A static, routine day was something manageable, something dependable and safe. If things strayed too far from his routine, it provided an accurate measure of how incorrect his day was going. It provided a goal, a goal to keep that routine, no matter how mundane a goal it was, and it provided a reason to become irritated if that practice was not kept perfectly. He would wake up at the same nonsensically early hour every morning, he would take the same amount of time to dress and prepare himself every morning, he entered his scarlet sports car and departed for the office at the same time every morning, and so on, and so forth.

Thus went the fateful day in question-entirely without incident, but only for the majority of it. At precisely 6:23 P.M. (Edgeworth's eyes shot to the dreary clock on his wall as soon as he heard the brisk knock on the door), Detective Dick Gumshoe invited himself into the prosecutor's office. What mood Edgeworth was in before the gratuitous interruption will never be known, for the moment he saw the Detective's face his air became one of hazardous annoyance. The good Detective, by sharp contrast, appeared sullen and forlorn.

"I'm not in the mood to hear you out today," warned Edgeworth before Gumshoe could get a word in, already accustomed to what he described as the Detective's 'episodes.' "Just give it here."  
Obediently, Gumshoe made his way into the office, past a wall of neatly organized case files, beyond a lone chess table, over soft, pricey-looking crimson carpeting, and towards the irritated prosecutor's desk, which stood before a large glass window bordered by ruby and gold velvet curtains and overlooking the city.

The anomaly was that Gumshoe did this without ever opening his mouth.

In absolute silence the detective offered a peach file folder onto the district attorney's desk. Edgeworth lightly pushed other papers aside to make way for the case file, sighing in quiet exasperation.

"Don't leave just yet," Edgeworth mumbled without even looking up at Gumshoe, "Your department is so prone to errors…"

The room was filled with a quiet pierced only by the occasional turning of pages as Edgeworth sized up the case file. Unnerved by the silence, Gumshoe took an uneasy seat on a burgundy couch beside the desk on which witnesses usually sat while the sly prosecutor _conditioned_ them. With no intention of observing Edgeworth's perusal of what he knew was a flawless report, the Detective allowed his eyes to stray to the details of the set of mahogany shelves behind the desk. He wasn't able to stare for long before he was interrupted by an aggravated voice.

"… Wonderful. Third page and you've already mixed the defendant's attorney with the victim."

Already having anticipated this issue, the detective shook his head. "Uh… No, sir."

"What do you mean, 'no, sir?" Edgeworth snapped, annoyed by this obvious questioning of his aptitude. "Did you even look this over before submitting it?!"

Gumshoe simply nodded, keeping his eyes on a carpet that was probably worth more than his apartment. "I did, sir… I didn't mix the attorney with the victim. He, uh, is the victim."

Despite Edgeworth's flair for rationality, his reply was both swift and inarguable.  
"No, he's not."

With notably more purpose than before, he flipped through the report, until he arrived at a section containing photos of the victim and the suspect.

For an uncharacteristic moment, he went utterly still with shock.

On the desk before him was a photo of Phoenix Wright's recent chest bullet wound.

Before he knew it, he was slamming his hand on his wooden desk just as fervently as he would strike the prosecution stand while objecting in court. At the sharp sound, Dick Gumshoe nearly jumped off of the sofa.

"Is he alright?! Why didn't you tell me this?!"

"I-I didn't know what to say, s-sir!" the detective stammered, finally looking up at Edgeworth. "As I'm to understand he's going to be all right, I think."

"'_All right_?' He was shot in the chest!"

Before the detective could reply, Edgeworth's voice darkened and he spoke again.

"Get out. Get out _now_."

Gumshoe hesitated only slightly before getting up off of the couch and immediately starting back towards the door. At one point he paused and glanced back at Edgeworth, eager to say something, but the prosecutor had his eyes back on the case file, and the detective was too intimidated to interrupt him. He left the office, his exit inaudible except for the quiet click of the door.

Moments later, it was reopened by Edgeworth, whom Gumshoe suspected must have rushed across the office to catch him.

"Where was he admitted to?"

"Uh… St. Fred's West, sir."

Without a word of thanks, Edgeworth ducked back into his office and shut the door.


	3. Intermission 1: Thoughts of the Victim

_by Soramimi Cake of Court-Records Forums_

_Intermission 1; Thoughts of the Victim. Inside of Phoenix Wright's mind._

I can't stop grabbing at my sheets. It's all I can do to keep from screaming - but maybe I've been screaming the entire time, I might not ever know for sure; I'm so far away from everybody, literally and figuratively, that I feel like I can't reach out even if I try my hardest. If I'm really shouting then the only person that can hear it is me.

I can't help but feel like I'm being punished for something, thrown into a room to struggle in painful loneliness - all that exists right now is the bed, the sheets, and _pain_, and it's unbearable.

Actually, the solitude might hurt a little bit more than my chest does, now that I think about it, because all I want is somebody there beside me to tell me that I'm not dying - that's what it feels like, I feel like I'm dying - even if it's a lie. I taste blood in the air of every breath I take, and every time I cough it feels like someone with a knife is twisting my insides around and pulling them taught.

I wonder if I'm going to live through this. I don't want to die, not after we just fixed everything that had gone wrong in the past. I'm terrified: I think this is out of my control now, and I can't fix this by going around and scrounging up evidence.

I wish I could press fast-forward to see what's going to happen.

I've never experienced this much pain before, and it's all because I'd decided to go get lunch at the park. That's all.

And I had seen Miles there.

I remember stopping him and trying to get him to talk to me, but he brushed me off, which stung a bit. We hadn't seen each other very often in the past few months, and I'd been glad that I'd run into him, but he didn't seem to share the same sentiment. He had looked a bit annoyed, in truth, and I guess I'd made it worse by asking what was wrong, because his response had been really angry - I can't recall exactly what he'd said, but ultimately it was what made me back down. It's hard to believe that all of this started just an hour or so after he left.

I guess he'd snuck up behind me, the gunman, because I heard it before I felt it and I can't get the sound out of my ears. I didn't get to see his face, but he'd said something that I can't remember before he shot me. I have to remember, and I have to tell somebody - I'll focus on remembering. That's going to be how I do my part. A testimony is a testimony, and it might be the only lead they have.

I can't think straight through this pain.

... But none of this is Miles' fault. If he had any way of knowing that this would've happened then he wouldn't have just walked away. 

I wonder if he's okay. I'm not sure how he'll react to something like this.

Maya, too. She's busy, and she has a whole bunch of new responsibilities. It all must be really foreign to her, and she can't be bothered with this. It hurts so badly, and I wish she were here, but I don't want her to come. I can't be strong for her right now, and she's not allowed to see me like this.

I won't let her come, then. Pearls, either. They have to stay in Kurain, I'll make sure they do.

They're bound to find out eventually, though, just like Miles. I can't shelter them from the truth, and I can't die, not while they're waiting for me to come home.

I wish I wasn't so much trouble.


	4. Chapter 2

Edgeworth didn't think twice before making the decision to visit Phoenix straight away. He'd only gone on looking at the case file for a few more minutes (with absolute focus on the victim's segment) before packing it in his briefcase, seizing his car keys, and leaving the office. For nearly the entirety of the trip, his mind was plagued by the reality of one salient detail of the report: the close proximity of the bullet wound to Phoenix's heart.

_The shooter missed her intended mark._

If this was anyone else's case, he realized with a slight twinge of queasiness, he would be rejoicing. The bullet's close location proved beyond reasonable doubt that the assailant had clear aims to murder and not just to injure. Naturally, this was an important argument to establish in any effort to convict someone of attempted murder.

As he neared the hospital, Edgeworth's thoughts shifted to the anticipation of what he would find. What had befallen Phoenix troubled him a lot more than he judged it should and he therefore planned to hide it. Showing signs of how concerned he was would only cause Phoenix to panic, he reasoned. There was no better time to put his ability to appear cool and unconcerned to use.

Luckily, St. Fred's West was not far from the Prosecutor's Office and he arrived within twenty minutes. During a brief visit to the reception desk he learned Phoenix's room number, but he sought out the doctor before the patient.

And he learned that Phoenix was _not_ 'all right.'

Edgeworth entered Room 106 as quietly as he could manage to, his eyes darting to the only occupied hospital bed in the two-patient room. Phoenix shifted to face him, and he was immediately overcome by two conflicting emotions of relief and dread—relief, because Phoenix seemed awake and responsive, but dread at the simple sight of him. Like all hospital rooms, this one gave off an air of purity because of the lighting in the room and the colors which they shone upon—all light peaches, soft blues, and pure whites. However, none of this eased his distress at seeing Phoenix confined to a hospital bed, gripping a small fistful of blanket in the purest form of silent agony.

Perceptibly reddened eyes stared up at the prosecutor over some abominable breathing contraption Edgeworth at first couldn't take his eyes off of. Chiefly due to the device, Phoenix's breaths were audible from anywhere in the room. After a still pause at the door, Edgeworth finally stepped in, claiming a chair beside the bed and setting his suitcase down nearby it. Despite the fact that a glimmer of joy was discernible in Wright's glance, Edgeworth found himself unable to look at him for long and averted his eyes instead to the bed sheets.

"… Are you all right?" he said, with lack of better else to say. The reply came as a low, hoarse whisper and though Phoenix's mouth was covered, Edgeworth could hear a smile in it.

"… Been better…"

"Do the Fey girls know? I can get them train tickets to come down here…"

Phoenix flinched. "No… Don't want them here… N-No offense…" He took what should have been an infuriatingly long time to speak, but Edgeworth was patient.

"I understand… … I can't believe this happened…" he mused, still avoiding eye contact. "I'll get her punished to the maximum extent of the law."

"Who?" To Edgeworth's surprise, Phoenix sounded completely confused at the mention of the suspect.

"… Byrde."

"What… did she do?"

Edgeworth finally passed Phoenix a light glance in a silence that followed. He knew that Maggey Byrde and the defense attorney had a history of acquaintance and friendship, and he didn't want to be the one to break this news to him. His almost instinctual loathing for crime had him riled up over the simple mention of the incident, but he didn't want to cause the bedridden man to worry any further. His grey eyes, still cleverly devoid of any obvious emotion such as worry, returned yet again to the bed sheets.

"She shot you."

"… Maggey… … Why?" If there had been a smile before, feigned or genuine or otherwise, it was gone now, because dejection rung clear in Edgeworth's ears.

"I don't know… why she would have anything against you, but she did. All of the evidence points to her and her trial is in two days."

Phoenix said nothing.

"… I know you were close, but she needs to pay."

"… Miles… I'm scared…" Phoenix admitted suddenly in a twist of conversation Edgeworth neither expected nor hoped for. The downhearted statement left Edgeworth silent for a moment.

"… Of what?"

"I've never... Been so hurt before... It's scary..."

Court trials were battles of wit which involved a lot of speaking, and so he had become naturally accustomed to hearing Phoenix's voice, talking or yelling or otherwise. Despite the way that mechanism altered it, causing it to sound hollow and mechanical, Edgeworth deciphered something he hadn't heard in over 15 years: Phoenix sounded like a child. At this realization, Edgeworth's heart sunk in an almost tangible manner.

"You're not going to die, Nick," he assured him.

To his dismay, Phoenix only appeared increasingly more frightened, as if dying hadn't even occurred to him. Eager for his attention, Edgeworth reached forward slightly to touch his shoulder. "You're going to be alright. I've already spoken to the doctors… They said you're fine."

Phoenix, the terror in his eyes replaced with something else, stared blankly at Edgeworth for a moment and then nodded as though he had been asked a question. Edgeworth frowned.

"… They drugged you, didn't they?"

Phoenix closed his eyes softly, turning his head slightly in some vague acknowledgement that was neither a nod nor a shake of the head. "I think so…"

_That's why he's acting this way… He's afraid, and trying to comfort him while he's like this is going to fail._

Intent on retaining his composure regardless, Edgeworth sat back with a plain sigh. "I can't argue what's necessary… I'll let you rest."

Whatever peace was meant to follow was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. After slight hesitation, Edgeworth rose to open it and he was greeted by the sight of Gumshoe with a fistful of devastated, shedding flowers and an optimistic grin on his face.

"… Gumshoe," Edgeworth muttered in simple greeting.

The detective was startled by the annoyance in Edgeworth's voice, but his smile did not falter. "Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth grimaced. "What the hell are those weeds?"

Gumshoe shifted his hand to hold up the dilapidated flowers a little higher, looking them over in an attempt to understand the prosecutor's cynicism. He saw nothing.

"They're irises, sir…"

"Why are they ruined?" Edgeworth snapped, his voice hushed to conceal the ordeal from Phoenix.

"Huh? They're not ruined… Squished, a little bit, but they're fine." Despite Gumshoe's judgment, the flowers were hardly just 'squished' by Edgeworth's standards. He glanced back at Phoenix momentarily before turning a glare back to Gumshoe, sighing in exasperation. Not in any mood to argue, he fished his wallet out of his pants pocket and easily pulled out a $20 bill, pushing it into Gumshoe's free hand.

"Throw those away and get some fresh ones."

Needless to say, Gumshoe was surprised by the gesture, but he was apparently more engrossed by this new mission. "Oh… Okay, sir! I will!" Turning on his heel, the detective departed down the hallway, leaving Edgeworth to close the door behind him.

"… Who was that?" Phoenix finally said, leading Edgeworth to further dread the degree to which he was medicated.

"Detective Gumshoe," Edgeworth answered, crossing the room and retaking his seat.

"… Oh… Why'd he leave?"

"He came to ask for directions to the flower shop. He wants to buy you some."

Phoenix smiled a little. "... Oh... I'll thank him when he comes back..."

A silence followed for which Edgeworth found himself unable to look at Phoenix yet again. It upset him implausibly to see his childhood friend this way; part of him wanted to ask if it hurt, how much it hurt, and what had happened, but a stoical logic kept him from it. Whatever tranquilizing medication Phoenix was on was an effectual communication barrier and Edgeworth wasn't about to challenge that.

Unlike most silences which Edgeworth traditionally enjoyed, this one prompted him to speak.

"Well... Do you mind if I stay here to work for a couple of hours?" he asked, reaching to grab the suitcase. He was naturally eager to give Byrde's case file a more thorough read.

"No… You can stay…" Phoenix paused, and then continued without need: "Please stay…"

"… I will," Edgeworth said after some notable hesitation, carefully slipping the case file out of the briefcase and setting it neatly on a small white table which bordered the bed and the wall. He opened the folder and flipped to the first page of information, giving it a more scrupulous assessment.

Time passed during which Edgeworth read the file in silence; the room quiet except for Phoenix's mechanically regulated breaths and the occasional turning of pages. Edgeworth didn't look up from the report, not entirely out of pure fixation on its contents, but because he didn't want to see the look in Phoenix's eyes.

Therefore, he was unaware that Phoenix was actually staring up at the ceiling until the injured man's voice sounded out again and Edgeworth at last looked at him.

"I'm not used… to being alone…" he mused, his eyes fixed in a motionless stare. "I don't like it."

_That class trial… Does it haunt him still? Or is this the morphine talking…_

"You'll never really be alone. You have lots of friends," Edgeworth assured him calmly.

All too soon, there was a disruptively brisk knock at the door, and Edgeworth winced, already aware of the visitor's identity. He sighed, standing up and heading to the door to answer it.

Phoenix didn't seem to notice the knocking, and he spoke again, causing Edgeworth to pause where he was. "… You're one of them… right?"

"… Yes. I am."

Edgeworth proceeded to open the door, and no simple words could express his disgust at the sight.  
There stood Gumshoe, beaming and holding six sunflowers which were at least twice the size of his head.

"They were out of irises, so I got these!"

The scowl on Edgeworth's face alone caused Gumshoe's smile to vanish. "… Is there something wrong with them, sir?"

"Do you think these would fit in a vase?" Edgeworth replied suddenly.

"Oh… Right…" 

Before Edgeworth could send the detective off, Phoenix's small voice called out from behind him.  
"Gumshoe?..."

At this, Edgeworth sighed quietly, looking away from the detective and stepping aside to let him in. At the sight of Wright, Gumshoe regained a small bit of his cheerful composure.  
"Mr. Wright! How're ya feeling, pal?"

Phoenix smiled a little despite himself. "Not so good…"

"Oh… Well, I brought you flowers, but I guess they're too big..." Gumshoe said, closing the door after himself. Edgeworth walked back to his seat beside the bed, and Gumshoe followed suit, taking a seat beside his. He reached to carefully prop the sunflowers up against the table.

"It's okay… Thank you," said Phoenix politely, somehow warranting another silence during which Edgeworth pretended to already be preoccupied with the case file.

The quiet was abruptly broken by Detective Gumshoe. "Do you really think Magg-, I mean, Officer Byrde--"

"Yes," Edgeworth replied without missing a beat, whether or not the question was directed at him. Gumshoe slumped.

"The evidence points to her. That's all I need."

"… I don't understand," Phoenix continued, gloominess almost palpable in his voice. "She was my friend…"

"She has a very peculiar way of showing her friendship," Edgeworth murmured confidently. "Whoever did this was trying to kill you."

Gumshoe quite nearly stood up, obviously flustered by the calm accusation. "I just can't believe that she would do that, Mr. Edgeworth, sir."

"Unfortunately, whether or not you can believe a suspect is guilty is irrelevant in a courtroom. What matters is evidence…" Edgeworth said with a lack of acknowledgement for Gumshoe's disillusionment.  
Gumshoe did not pursue the argument further, quietly drooping back into his chair.

"… I'm sorry, Phoenix…" Edgeworth admitted after a short pause, finally looking up from the papers.

"It's not your fault…"

"… I'm going to see Ms. Byrde. Detective, stay here and get Wright anything if he needs it, but don't disturb him needlessly, understood?"

Gumshoe nodded steadfastly. "Yes, sir."

Edgeworth rose to his feet, grabbing his suitcase but leaving the stack of papers on the table. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"… You promise?" Phoenix asked, staring up at him with dismayed eyes Edgeworth was afraid to look at.  
"Yes. Do you think I would leave that case file behind?"

Once again, Phoenix smirked a little despite himself. "You're still the same…"

Unsure of how to reply, Edgeworth hesitated and did not answer directly. "I'll see you later."

He made his way past the still-seated detective and out the door.


	5. Chapter 3

_By Soramimi Cake of Court-Records forums_

For Maya Fey, things were just beginning to seem natural and welcoming once more. The unexpected twists of fate in the past few years had certainly interfered with the training she so desperately needed to undergo before taking the reins of Kurain Village, and to put it bluntly, she'd run around her duties like a chicken with its head cut off for the first few months she'd spent as Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique. Time heals all, however, and sooner or later she found herself getting comfortable with what it took to get things right - which was good, seeing as she was the only person in the village who could get things done now that the adults had no defined leader among them. Although this type of serious responsibility was a whole new world to her, she felt as if she could get used to it; it seemed like time was really all she needed at her disposal in order to become a good Master.

It was truly unfortunate that she would not get what she required.

Maya Fey's enlightenment had been akin to the experience of one Miles Edgeworth in that everything had been normal, routine and familiar. The retreating sun had been in the process of turning the sky delightful colors, signifying that the day neared its end, and young Pearl Fey had been assisting the other girls of the village in cleaning the dishes from suppertime. It was a scene that would forever burn itself into the back of Maya's mind; the day before everything went downhill all over again.

She'd been enjoying the view that the main pathway of Kurain provided when they had first pulled up, and it was because of this that she failed to notice them at first. At the time, she'd been remembering that she had spent much of her childhood here with her late older sister, looking down the path and marveling at the expanse of mountains that reared up beyond the treeline. The way that Kurain fit so snugly into the embrace of the surrounding range had always made her feel so safe, and now that the village belonged to her, in a sense, the sight of them made her feel proud. It was a bit like the Lion King, she'd noted one day - everything that the light touched was her kingdom. She could get used to thinking that.

"Excuse me," an unfamiliar voice had said, yanking Maya out of her pondering so abruptly that she was sure she'd jumped. "Are you Miss Maya Fey of Kurain Village?"

_Well, duh,_ her brain tempted her to say, but she fought the urge. Turning on her heels, she put on what she liked to call her 'Master Face' - smile but not too much, stand up straight but not too straight, shoulders stiff but not too stiff - and offered the newcomers (two men in suits, as it were) a curt nod. "Yeah, I am." The art of speaking formally had never sat well with her, and perhaps it never would. "Welcome to Kurain. Can I help you?"

Being uneasy hadn't even occurred to her before, mostly because she'd been rather pleased to get any sort of visitor in her village, but seeing the two for the first time gave her an inexplicable dropping sensation in the pit of her stomach. It would have been unprofessional to avoid their gaze, so she had no choice but to tolerate it; of course, it didn't keep her from internally wishing they would do their business and leave.

The first of the two men nodded towards her. "Indeed... We're here to deliver some news." His gaze raked over the dirt roads intently, and the glint of disgust Maya caught in his eye for what he must have thought to be a primitive civilization made her want to punch him in the face. "Would you like to take a seat?"

"A seat?" She parroted, missing a beat or two due to the twinge of foreboding she had felt. If soap operas had taught her anything, it was that being offered a seat before news was doled out usually signified bad things. "I think I'm okay." _Translation: Out with it already!,_ her mind raged. Hopefully her internal dialogue wasn't messing with her Master Face.

"Alright," the second man said, stepping forward boldly. He cleared his throat quite noisily, reminiscent of the man that had trained her sister in the art of defense, and Maya was a little disgusted by it. _I don't see why they're acting so regal,_ she found herself thinking bitterly, _unless they're announcing that I'm the next Queen of England or something._ All she knew was that they were going to get it if they made her late for recording the upcoming marathon of Steel Samurai reruns.

"You are familiar with one Phoenix Wright, are you not?" The throat-clearer announced. Shifty-eyes was still prying around the village from where he stood, and Maya's irritation with the duo kept her from feeling too distressed. She hadn't seen Nick in while - too long - but fact that something could have happened to him in that time was simply impossible.

"Yeah, I am," she said, nudging a pebble that had been lingering by her foot with a toe. "Why?"

"There's been an accident, Ms. Fey."

Maya felt her jaw drop open, and she didn't bother to close it. An accident with Nick? Her heart knocked against her ribcage as if it were trying to break free. Details - she needed details, and she needed them now, but she couldn't find the voice she needed in order to ask.

"He was at the park, and from there he was shot in the chest. A suspect has been apprehended, but we haven't been permitted to release her name," Shifty-eyes stated, fiddling with his tie as if he were actually _bored_ or something. For the first time Maya realized how conditioned their voices were - like robots - and how they didn't even have to force themselves not to care. Was this just another day's work for them?

"Something... To Nick?" Maya croaked. Being shot wasn't an accident, it was an attempt at murder, but she barely had time to call attention to that. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt swollen, as if she hadn't had a thing to drink in decades. It was like talking around a mouth full of tapioca pudding. "He was..." Shot in the chest. Her mind completed the sentence for her, but she dared not speak the words aloud, as if talking about him would worsen his condition. "...I-I can't believe it..." Her trembling hands wandered down to her midriff, and she left them there, as if the bearers of the bad news had actually physically struck her where it was likely to hurt the most. The figurative blow the news had dealt her had winded her; the energy she was typically bursting at the seams with was gone, and there was nothing but shock and numbness there in its stead.

"He requested that we tell you so that you did not find out on your own accord," the throat-clearer said in that same arid tone. "He is currently in critical condition, but I can assure you that the staff of St. Fred's West is doing their best to help him."

Maya swallowed, and the tears came almost immediately after, but she was hardly ashamed. "Okay," she said quietly. It was as generic a response as one could ever give, but it was all she could think to say.

"It is a very sad thing, Ms. Fey," Shifty-eyes said, his words blank. He made a motion to put his hand on Maya's shoulder, but she recoiled instantly, _hating_ him for having the nerve to feign sympathy. He'd just allowed it to drop back to his side, dead as the rest of him, before continuing. "We're very sorry for your loss."

_Loss! He's in critical condition; he's not dead - is he?_ Maya fidgeted, her body shuddering with hardly-contained sobs of dismay.

"... He also requested that you don't see him," Shifty-eyes said in a purely conversational tone, as if he'd been talking about the weather. Maya felt grief hit her like a sack of bricks, and the force of it almost kicked her down onto her knees. "He might have been delirious at the time of his request..."

_Just keep talking about how fast Nick is dying, I dare you,_ Maya thought to herself, sadness converting itself to rage at a breakneck pace. She rubbed the tears violently from her eyes and gave the duo a look that could kill, but they didn't even seem to notice it.

"... But as long as his appeal stands, you aren't to see him. You have our sincerest apologies."

_Yeah, I'd also like to have my fist in your face_, Maya wanted to answer, but she refrained from doing so. She was only dimly aware of the fact that the tears hadn't stopped coming; all she could do was think upon the fact that her Nick was dying, and he didn't want to see her. She did just that, stand and think, and time raced on around her while memories of him and all he'd done for her replayed - it was as if he had already gone.

The distant calling of her younger cousin was what had snapped her out of her stupor. By then the men had gone back from whence they came, taking the tension and hate with them and leaving only a deep remorse. She couldn't remember if they'd taken the time to say goodbye; if they did then she hadn't answered them. Everything was a blur, just a terrible ache, and she couldn't seem to find her bearings.

"Mystic Maya! Mystic Maya!" Pearl called as she went racing up the dirt road, clearly very much concerned for her previously missing Master. Maya dried her eyes on the back of her hands with a shiver, _ignorance is bliss_ flashing across her mind as she dully realized that little Pearly had _no idea_. "You've been gone for so long, Mystic Maya! Your show started, and I tried to turn the TV-recorder on but I don't know if it worked..."

_Pearly has the right to know,_ Maya decided while the little girl rambled on. _Nick told me, even though he doesn't want me to come and see him._

"Pearly," Maya interrupted, surprised by how strong her voice had come out. The tiny medium fell into an obedient silence. "There's something I have to tell you..." The Kurain Master lowered herself onto one knee, pulling the smaller girl into a quick embrace. "Nick had an accident..."

If she was going to do this, she had to do it right.


	6. Chapter 4

This one's a page shorter than the last one, but I'm a lot more comfortable about how this one came out. I need feedback on this one pleeeeaaaasseee even if it's just, "I like how it's going so far," so I know that I'm doing it wright. D

By all means… take 5 minutes out of your time and REVIEW! Motivate us and we'll deliver.

------

Edgeworth was in a decidedly different mood when he arrived at the Detention Center a short while later. He made his temperament obvious upon entry by quite nearly slamming the door behind himself. The unwarranted, resonant noise didn't cause Maggey Byrde to flinch from where she sat, however. Perhaps she cringed a bit at most, but she remained in a still, unwavering expression of immense despair, her elbows resting on the desk before her and her chin resting in her palms.

Unsympathetic to Maggey's sorrow, Edgeworth marched over towards the seat opposite her, not even granting her eye contact once as he set his mahogany suitcase down on the desk before him. With a few swift snapping sounds he opened the case, fished out a simple pad of paper and a very expensive-looking pen, and slammed them down in front of her one by one. The prosecutor took his seat, and the recently-cleaned divider did absolutely nothing to hamper the effect of his brutal glare.

_This_ woman was responsible for the scene he had to cope with at the hospital? The pain, the delirium, and the suffering Phoenix was enduring—_she_ was responsible for it?

There was no doubt in Edgeworth's mind of this 'fact.' All her sullen and injured air served to do was infuriate him further before the impending conversation even began because it acted as a guarantee that she was going to feign absolute innocence. Never would he doubt the accusation because she looked or sounded innocent, but that she feigned blamelessness, like the rest of them, incensed him.

"Is he alright?..." she said, her eyes flitting up to look at him momentarily, but soon turning down again. She was glancing up at him intermittently but keeping her eyes down for the majority of the time. Ironically, Edgeworth took her reluctance to look him in the eye as evidence of a predisposition to lying rather than the result of his frigid glare. Needless to say, her question added fuel to the fire.

"_No_," Edgeworth answered, and he was quick to offer details. "He's awaiting another surgery. It took them two damned days to get him stable."

Despite his pause, Maggey said nothing, but she ceased glancing up at him. She bit gently at her lip, pawing at her eyes to fight back what Edgeworth was convinced were mere crocodile tears.

"I'm going to have you prosecuted to the full extent of the law," continued Edgeworth coolly.

"The real way to get revenge for this is to get the right person, Prosecutor..." Maggey cut in, her voice trembling markedly. "I would never, _ever_ hurt Mr. Wright... But you're not going to listen to me."

"Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that?"

"No. But I know how many times you've listened," Maggey retaliated without delay, obviously referring to the prosecutor's multitude of accomplished 'guilty' verdicts. With that many won trials, there was no doubt the implicit question of how many were actually innocent. No one ever asked.

"I've sort of given up…" Maggey continued, smiling without humor. "The only person who'd ever be able to get me the right verdict would be Mr. Wright... I guess... I guess I was wrong... I won't ever be anyone but Lady Luckless..."

Edgeworth was unfazed by what he assumed was specious remorse. "It would be truly sad if Mr. Wright proclaimed you not guilty of destroying his lung, and I know that he would do it. There are no other suspects, Ms. Byrde."

Once again, Maggey glanced up at him again with timid, watery eyes, retaining her despondent demeanor. "I know... It's not that hard for me to believe. I'm always at the wrong place at the wrong time... I guess stuff like this won't happen anymore after this trial." Apparently, this was not at all what Edgeworth wanted to hear. He slammed his hand down on the desk before him, glowering almost perniciously at her.

"I don't pity criminals, and you won't be the first no matter how hard you try!"

When Edgeworth had slammed the door, Maggey had barely flinched. When he so violently set down his pen and paper, she hadn't moved at all. However, at this sudden blow of invective, she nearly jumped out of her seat. 

"... Prosecutor, I apologize. I... didn't mean to get a rise out of you," she explained sincerely, staring at him with an alarmed look until his fierce look caused her to turn her eyes down once more. "... What did you come here for, Prosecutor? I need to know..."

Surprisingly enough, Edgeworth didn't seem very reluctant to change the topic.

"Not to argue with you."

"I already told you, sir, I've given up... There's no hope for me. I have nothing to argue."

"Then plead guilty," Edgeworth advised after only a short moment's hesitation. He looked away. "You'll save us both a lot of trouble admitting your guilt, and your sentence will be less severe."

Despite the equanimity with which the apparently rational suggestion was delivered, Maggey was quick to reject it. 

"I'm not guilty. Pleading guilty would be lying to everyone... lying to Mr. Wright. He's never going to know who really did it."

"You did it…" Edgeworth said with a more desensitized tone which one might use to make a suggestion. A show of frustration had become a form of passive-aggressiveness, and now he was rubbing his eyebrows gently with his left thumb and index finger.

"Prosecutor, put the evidence aside for just a moment and provide me with a motive - one single motive I would've had."

"… I questioned the validity of your 'not guilty' plea in Mr. Prince's case…" Edgeworth began without faltering.

Maggey's disposition changed from disheartened to livid just as quickly as a cornered witness's might, and suddenly she was staring at Edgeworth as though she wanted to set him on fire.

"It makes you angry, does it not?" said Edgeworth, smirking lightly. "I suppose the thought of Mr. Wright would make you angry if you lost confidence in his abilities…"

"Did you know that he had amnesia during that trial, Prosecutor?" Maggey said matter-of-factly, quick to retaliate. "And yet I didn't lose faith in him. Not once."

"Amnesia? You have an active imagination. I suppose you'll exercise it in court tomorrow…"

Maggey was only angered further by his disregard for her point. "Ask him, then. Ask Maya if you have to. He was knocked out before the trial by that pompous bastard and he couldn't remember a thing when he woke up!"

"Oh, have _I_ struck a nerve this time?" Edgeworth said unperturbedly with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "Whether or not he had amnesia and whether or not you '_believed in him the entire time_' is irrelevant to whether or not you shot him two days ago. Your fate will be decided in court tomorrow, not here."

At some point during his speech she slumped back down in her seat, resting her elbows on the table once more and running her hands through her hair. "It's already been decided, Prosecutor… You're sending an innocent person to jail…"

"Ha! Every criminal is going to claim that they're not culpable. I don't know why I'm wasting my time trying to talk to you."

Unexpectedly enough, Maggey looked up at him and maintained eye contact. "Maybe, sir… Maybe you know that I'm innocent and you don't want to accept it, because without me, there's no one to punish for Mr. Wright's injuries but yourself…"

Needless to say, Edgeworth was taken aback. He gasped soundlessly, silent for a moment before he could speak. "… What kind of nonsense is that? Why would I punish myself for what happened to Wright?" he snapped.

"You seem pretty broken up about him, sir… I've been through it. I recognize it…You didn't do it, but it's your fault…" Maggey said quietly, rubbing at her eyes again.

"I'm not 'broken up.' We're rivals… I'm here doing my job."

"… Would you want him to hear that?"

"… Who do you think you are?"

"An innocent person."

"I'll tell you who you are. You're a suspect of attempted murder. I am your prosecutor. Sob to your lawyer, not to me."

Maggey was unfazed by his discourtesy. "I'm not sobbing, Prosecutor. At least, I wasn't the last time I checked." She put a hand to her cheek, gently rubbing the area beneath her right eye. "I was crying before, but not because I'm being blamed for something I didn't do... I was crying because Mr. Wright doesn't deserve what's happening to him. I wish I could help, but certain people are using me as a scapegoat..."

"I've heard enough," Edgeworth cut in, finality in his tone. "It's no use trying to properly question you." He stood up, grabbing his suitcase in the process. "I'll see you in court tomorrow. You can expect an early verdict."

"… Say hello to Detective Gumshoe for me, if you will…"

"I'm positive you'll see him on the stand tomorrow."

Without another word, he shoved the chair in, snatching the pen and the empty paper, and without another glance, he crossed the room to exit just as aggressively as he had entered.


End file.
